The sun was choked behind storm-wrought clouds, ash and snow falling alike over the Dragon Gate. Miao Ying stepped out onto the high tower, her white hair stirring in the wind, eyes fixed on the chaos below.

Cathayan drums pounded from within the walls — measured, defiant — while in the distance, deeper and more primal, the Hung beat theirs like thunder over the steppes. Below, fire and smoke wreathed the battlements as rockets screamed into the horde and steel rang against the stone.

The Great Bastion had held for nine days, the piles of dead piling higher by each one.

She watched a burning siege tower collapse beneath a storm of quarrels and cannonfire.

A captain in scorched armor approached and knelt. “My lady. Reinforcements have arrived from Wei-Jin and Fu-Chow. They have answered your call and await to be let in the southern gate.”

She didn’t look at him just turned and walked past him.

"I will greet them myself."